by Ralph Cotton
He stooped and picked the leather rein up and held it out straight between his hands. It was about the same length that he’d noticed missing from Harper’s buggy reins. All right, but now what? he wondered. But he only wondered for a second as he watched himself wrap the ends around each gloved hand and test it between them.
Stiles choked the banker to death…?
As soon as the thought came to his mind, he stopped himself. A strip of leather didn’t prove anything. Besides, even if somebody did choke the banker, that didn’t mean it was Stiles. Right…, he thought, but it was something to keep in the back of his mind and see which way the thought led him.
“I could drink something too, Summers,” Cherry called out to him. “Something hot, or even cold.”
“I’m coming,” Summers said absently. But before he walked away from the torn piece of upholstery, he spotted the tin case lying in the snowy dirt, and a few feet from it the open receipt pad fluttering in the breeze. Stooping again, he picked the items up and turned them both in his gloved hands. He flipped through singed receipts until he came to the last one and saw Jack Warren’s signature on the bottom. He studied the name for a moment, running things through his mind.
This might be something worth keeping to himself, he decided. Closing the receipt pad, he shoved it inside his coat, into his breast pocket. The tin case he looked over good, then did the same thing with it. The length of leather he kept in his hand.
“What did you pick up?” Cherry asked as he walked toward back toward the horses.
“A leather strap,” said Summers. He held it up across his palm. “Wolves have chewed it up. It looks about the same width as the buggy reins.”
“What did you put in your coat?” Cherry asked, dismissing the length of leather rein.
“Nothing,” Summers said.
“I saw you,” Cherry said, her eyes glassy and shining in the dimming evening light.
“Sorry, Cherry, you’re mistaken,” Summers said, stepping up into his saddle and taking up the lead rope. “Maybe you’re smoking too much.”
“Hmmph, maybe,” Cherry said. “But I saw something, I know I did.”
“You need to leave the secas de mayan alone for a while, Cherry,” Summers said. “It’s making you stand a little off-center.”
“I only smoke it to relax,” she said. She looked down at her feet in the stirrups as if to see if she was off-center. Then she looked back up. “Anyway, I’ve cut back…. I’m almost out of it.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go,” said Summers, turning his horse, leading his string beside him.
“Where are we making camp?” Cherry asked, turning her paint horse alongside him.
“Far enough from here to avoid any dinner guests returning for scraps.” He gestured toward the horse carcass. “Wolves will come back several times to a kill, sometimes just to bring their young so they can roll in it.”
“See? That’s why I hate wolves,” Cherry said.
They rode less than a mile from the horse’s carcass. Higher up into the hills, they turned their animals onto a path that wound back into the shelter of pine, cedar and broken boulders and widened at the bottom of a narrow waterfall.
“This will do,” Summers said. He swung down from his saddle and led his dapple gray and his three-horse string to the edge of the runoff water and let them drink. Beside him, Cherry stepped down from her paint horse and led it alongside him. As the horses drank, he walked around close by and began gathering twigs and dried downfall branches suitable for building a fire.
“Did you ever think of getting yourself a tent, Will Summers?” Cherry asked, her eyes less shiny, her voice less dull, but sounding a little tense. She looked all around the clearing between two walls of rock.
“I think of it from time to time,” Summers said. “But for the most part a tent is more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Oh? In what way?” Cherry asked, walking along with him, doing her share, gathering firewood.
“You have to put a tent up and take it down every morning when you’re traveling,” he said.
“But with a tent you wouldn’t be sleeping outside,” Cherry offered.
Summers looked around at her, noting how her voice sounded more tense.
“That’s another drawback as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“Then you’d rather sleep outdoors than indoors?” she asked nervously.
Summers stopped and gave her a questioning look, his arms staring to fill with firewood.
“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asked.
“Yes—yes, I’m fine,” she said, clearly sounding distressed. “Can you just answer the question?”
“Sure,” Summers said, looking her up and down. “Given a choice, I sleep outdoors.” As he spoke he walked over to a good spot for a campfire and dropped the wood at his feet. He turned to her as she walked over and dropped her wood in the same spot. “Now, what’s got you so rattled?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said cynically. “How about last night, three men trying to kill us, remember?” She nodded back toward where the wolves had eaten Harper and his horse. “And of course that little dinner feast that went on back there—”
“If you’re afraid, you should have stayed in Gunn Point,” he said, cutting her off. “There’s always a risk to being in the wild. I didn’t ask to get put upon last night by those three.”
“It happened because Little Jackie shot at you and killed one of your horses,” said Cherry. “Then you killed him, remember?” Her voice rose; she stood trembling. She appeared ready to collapse.
Seeing her condition, Summers stepped over and took her in his arms before she fell.
“Hey, take it easy, Cherry,” he said. She sobbed against his chest, almost as uncontrollably as when she’d tried to ambush him in the livery barn. He stroked her hair and comforted her as if she were some brokenhearted child. “It’s all right. Nothing’s going to hurt you. You’re safe….” He looked all around as he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” Cherry said, toning the crying down. “I—I just get this way sometimes,” she said shakily. “I think it is from smoking the secas. It’s pretty powerful stuff.” She wiped a hand across her forehead. “I—I really am trying to cut back.”
“I understand,” Summers said. He wasn’t about to preach to her. He’d seen her resentment when he’d broached the matter earlier. “Let’s get you seated. You can relax while I build us a fire and get some coffee boiling.”
She allowed him to seat her on a rock beside the pile of firewood.
“I’m a mess…I know I am,” she said.
“You’re tired,” Summers said. “You only dozed a little in your saddle on our way back last night.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I am more tired than I realized. Last night was upsetting for a person unaccustomed to being shot at.” She looked at him and gave him a reddened, tear-streaked smile. Steam wisped in her breath.
“I don’t want you thinking I spend all my time going around getting myself shot at,” Summers said. He paused as he broke a length of dried wood over his knee to lay in the fire bed. “Although it does occur to me that I seem to fall upon more than my share of trouble sometimes.”
Cherry gave him another weak smile.
“In the barn,” she said quietly, “when I told you I didn’t know who you are? That wasn’t true. I’d heard of you, Will Summers,” she said.
“I figured you had,” Summers said, banking some small twigs and dried leaves into the middle of the firewood pile.
“Oh, really?” Cherry said with a bemused look.
“I don’t mean it boastfully,” Summers said. “But in this part of the frontier, I’ve become used to people knowing what happened in Rileyville. How I rode with Abner Webb’s posse and took down the Peltry Gang.” He shrugged. “It just happened and people heard about it, that’s all. Because of it, a lot of folks know me by name.” He took out some long wooden matches from inside his c
oat.
Cherry watched him strike a match, stick it flaring inside the pile of wood and into the dried twigs and leaves.
“Folks I heard talk about you always say it was a brave thing you did—you and those others.”
“Brave never feels like brave at the time,” Summers said reflectively, fanning the fire a little to help it along.
“And afterward?” Cherry asked.
“Afterward feels more like foolish than brave,” Summers said. “But by then you can’t go back and change foolish, so brave comes into play.”
Cherry smiled, this time more relaxed. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on them.
“I do feel safe with you, Will Summers,” she said. “Last night, even with all the shooting going on, I still felt safe for some reason—scared but safe. Does that make any sense?”
“Not at all,” Summers said. They both laughed a little; then he said, “Yes, I think I know what you mean. Sometimes even though you’re scared, you feel like you came in right and you’ll leave the same way.” He looked at her. “Is that what you mean?”
“Maybe,” Cherry said, considering it. “I’m not used to being right, so it takes some getting used to.”
Summers dusted his hands together and stood up.
“I’ll get the coffee started,” he said. “That’ll make us both feel more right than we’ve felt all day.”
“Do you think we’ve really seen the last of the other two?” Cherry said as Summers walked to the dapple gray, opened his saddlebags and reached inside.
“I hope so,” Summer replied. “There’s no reason why they should keep dogging us.” He walked back with the small blackened coffeepot and a small canvas pouch with a handful of coffee beans in it. “But then, there was no reason for them to be dogging us anyway. Unless, the one is out to avenge his missing ear.”
Cherry didn’t reply. She watched Summers stoop down over a flat rock, take out his Colt and use the butt of it to break up the beans in the pouch.
“I lied,” she said quietly. “I did know that Little Jackie was going to rob his father’s bank.”
Summers continued breaking up the coffee beans.
“Little Jackie told you?” he said, glancing up from his task.
“I—don’t remember,” Cherry said, seeming to have difficulty with her memory.
“He must’ve told you,” said Summers. “How else would you have known?”
“I just knew,” Cherry said. “I don’t know how, all right?”
Summers heard her getting shaky on the subject and let it go. He shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “just making conversation.”
When he’d put the pot on to boil, Summers stood up and walked to the horses. Cherry still sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, gazing into the fire, feeling the warm bite of it on her cheeks, the backs of her hands. She felt the urge to reach for her fixings, but she breathed deep and let the feeling pass. She felt good, calm….
While Summers tended to the horses, he heard her call out to him.
“We could sleep together tonight,” she said.
Summers smiled to himself and replied, “You mean keep each other warm?”
After a pause he heard Cherry say, “That too….”
Moments later when he’d finished with the horses, he turned and walked back to the fire carrying both of their saddles. He looked down and saw her sleeping soundly, her face resting sidelong on her knees.
Summers shook his head. He laid out the saddles and blankets and rolled her over into his arms. He carried her to her blanket and tucked her in, her saddle beneath her head.
“I don’t…want to sleep yet,” she whispered in a childlike tone.
“Shhhh, go ahead,” Summers whispered, knowing she had been off smoking the Indian tobacco. “You’re safe here. You’ll wake up feeling better than you have in a long time.”
She gave a thin, sleepy smile.
“You promise…?” she whispered.
“You have my word,” said Summers, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Your word…,” she said softly, drifting off to sleep, as if his word was good enough for her.
Chapter 15
Summers awakened early. He stood a pot of coffee to boil on a fiery bed of embers and sat watching the young woman sleep until daylight rose above the eastern horizon. A small pan sat to the side of the fire bed keeping jerked elk warm. An open air-tight of beans stood warm and waiting. When the aroma of food and coffee finally opened her eyes, he set a tip cup within her reach and sat back down with his Winchester across his lap. She blinked peacefully and lay staring at him for a moment from beneath her blanket.
“How did I sleep so long?” she said softly. “I don’t remember eating, lying down or nothing else.” She eased up and sat with the blanket around her. She looked over toward the horses. “Did I even tend to my poor horse?”
“Everything’s fine, Cherry,” Summers said. “Speaking of horses, I bet you’re hungry enough to eat one.”
“The wolves beat me to it,” she said. She giggled, then chastised herself. “That was a terrible thing to say, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve heard worse,” Summers said. She’d awakened with her mind rested and clearer—a sense of humor. That was good, he told himself. “I fixed you some jerk and beans,” he said.
“You are a dear. But first things first,” she said. She picked up the tin cup and blew on the steaming coffee, using a corner of her blanket to hold the hot thin metal. Summers noted the bag of fixings lying beside her when she’d scooted forward and opened the blanket slightly in order to reach for her coffee. But she didn’t reach for the bag first thing, he noted. That was good too.
“You’re feeling good this morning, I can tell,” Summers said.
“I’m feeling better than I have for a while,” Cherry said. She cocked her head a little and looked at him curiously. “Last night. We didn’t…you know, did we?”
Summers smiled slightly. He waited for a second before answering, sipping coffee and looking off along a ridge he’d been watching since daylight. He hadn’t heard anything, or seen anything out of the ordinary. But the ridgeline was the only clear view of their camp from the surrounding hills. So it was worth his attention now and then, he’d decided.
“Well, did we?” Cherry repeated.
“No” He smiled, adjusting his rifle on his lap. “We didn’t.”
“But an invitation was given, wasn’t it?” she said, trying to remember the preceding evening.
“Yes, but you needed your rest,” said Summers.
“I’m sorry, Will Summers,” she said. She scooted around in her blanket and sat beside him. They sipped their steaming coffee. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Obliged, Cherry. But you don’t need to promise me anything,” Summers said. “To tell you the truth, I was tired myself, after riding all night back to town.”
“So, you’re not disappointed?” Cherry said.
Another one of those perilous questions…, Summers told himself.
“Yes, I was disappointed,” he said wisely. “But that’s okay. Another place, another time.”
She let her blanket down enough to hook her arm in his and draw closer.
“Tell me, Will Summers,” she said, “do you not like me?”
“Don’t be silly,” Summers said. “Of course I like you.” He reached a hand around and pushed a strand of hair from her face. “I like you very much.”
“Very much…?” She gave him a look.
“You do like women,” she queried. “I mean, you’re not…” She let her words trail
“I love women, Cherry,” Summers said. “The fact is, any trouble I ever had, there’s been women there—women or horses,” he amended. “Most times, both.”
“So…,” she pondered, “women and horses have always caused you trouble?”
“No, not at all,” Summers, said. “It’s jus
t that any trouble I ever had, there’s been women and horses in it.”
Cherry said, “I suppose I could say the same thing about horses and men. I suppose anybody could, man or woman.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Summers said.
“I shouldn’t have asked what I asked,” said Cherry. “I’ll let you in on a secret. When a dove asks a man if he likes women, it’s to make him start doing everything he can to prove to her that he does.”
“That’s no secret, Cherry,” Summers said. “Everybody knows that.”
“They do?” she asked.
“I think so,” said Summers, “or else I know it and I figure if I know it everybody else knows it too.”
“Oh…,” she said.
“Anyway, I like women,” he said. “I love women!” He gave her a flat stare and added, “I particularly love women who happen to love me.”
She considered his words and sipped her coffee.
“You don’t have something against doves, do you?” she asked. “I mean, because we do it for money?”
“No,” Summers said. “That has never bothered me. People do what they do, for whatever reasons.” He looked off along the ridgeline again as he spoke. “I wouldn’t make a very good judge.”
“Okay, then!” Cherry laughed lightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He liked hearing her happy and bright for a change. She set the tin cup down and wiggled and squirmed out of her clothes beneath the blanket. Summers smiled and shook his head, studying the ridgeline.
“This beats everything,” he murmured.
“Not yet, it doesn’t,” Cherry said. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” She laughed playfully, teasingly. “Will Summers, do you want to get inside this blanket with me, or not?”
Summers smiled, still scanning the ridgeline.
“Of course I want to get inside the blanket with you, Cherry,” he said.
“Don’t be bashful with me, Will Summers,” she kidded. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” She stood in a crouch and moved around in front of him. She cupped his chin, making him face her. “You are going to have me for breakfast.”